


To never smile again

by TearingCold



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Mental Instability, Original Character(s), Serial Killers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25107817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearingCold/pseuds/TearingCold
Summary: They say it's hard to see good ol' serial killers these days. You know, all the security, cameras everywhere, phones with gps tracking, really you've never been safer.Can be, but that shit, all it does is making it easier to get caught.No, the killing, the killing has always been the same. No camera, no gps can save you from that.Make sure you won't be the next one to find out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Who I am**

I am your hero.  
You just don’t know it.  
Every day I walk the streets, surrounded by people looking into their phone, minding other people’s business, talking and laughing and crying and hustling and quietly keeping to themselves.  
And every day my mind just keeps doing it, it pushes against the twists of my brains, leaks through my synapses and reaches every cell of my body, trying to make me do it.  
The blade between your ribs in that restaurant’s back alley, where no one cared for a security camera, early in the morning when no one passes by.  
The bullet that washes the wall with your brains.  
The bruises on your neck while my arm draws the last breath of air from your lungs, and your weight pushing me down the wall.  
The lights in that family’s house that won’t turn off tonight.

It’s in my every gesture. In the air I inhale. It flows into me and through me and just compels me to do it.  
But I don’t.  
And because of this, I am your fucking hero.


	2. 6.95$

It was late, and it was cold.  
I held the glass bottle in my gloved right hand, unsteadily staggering while I moved sloppily forward. I turned to the fence and took a sip, laid the bottle on the concrete short wall that held the fence up and was holding me up too, at the moment. I almost fell, pushed by a strong gust of wind.  
“oh man…” my mouth unrolled the two short words slowly. I moved forward, a hand on the wall every two or three paces. The bottle forgotten.  
I turned the corner stumbling on my feet and a curse, reached the utter dark, turned and watched.  
The bum had seen it all from inside the abandoned factory. He waited, but I could see the look of fear and awaiting and hope in his eyes while he shortly and regularly stuck his neck out the door glimpsed at the bottle.  
There was no sound besides the fickle howling of the wind. He looked left and right on the street and finally took the bait. Yes.  
He smelled it and came back in, this time sitting on the doorstep, his shape lit against the fire inside, happy for his cheap discount whiskey.  
6.95$. Basically, gasoline. He takes a good sip, and another. It’s a matter of time now.  
I just watch, hands in my gloves in my pockets. I have plenty of time, but his long and frequent sips make my waiting short.  
He’s out in 15 minutes, and I get inside.  
Still good at planning it. Still good at finding the right dosage. Still good at picking the target.  
Fucking good, yes.  
There’s more to be put to testing. I whisper to his uncoscious body, while I recall everything that must be done now. I was so used to it.  
“I could have you dead with poison” my breath comes out as formulated sentence “but not my style. Also, tramps are not my style. But I need to start easy” the last word fades softly on his skin while i push him against my chest. He smells like garbage and rotten and old sweat, but as soon as my forearm pushes against his neck I can only smell blessing.  
I try to keep myself into reality by talking “I had to do it myself. Cause I always do it myself”.  
He is out, his neck soft while I gently squeeze the life out of him and his chin resting against the arm, perfectly aligned with my elbow.  
“So smart of them, training a psycho, uh”  
He stiffs slightly, unconsciously trying to fight back. The dim fire starts to warm the room too much for me. Life rages hot inside. Inside me, of course.  
Two and a half more minutes. Reality fades away while his body collapses onto me. I don’t talk. Sweat drops fall in short rivers down my temples. One minute more. Just to make sure.  
As it expires, reality comes back and punches my face with the smell of dumped humanity and shit.  
At least he did not vomit on my jacket.  
I move away and his body crashes on the floor.  
I wanted to dump it too, and had all it planned ahead but energy is boiling through me so strong i could catch fire if I don’t get out right now.  
I knew it could happen, that’s why I choose the bum. None will ask questions.  
I put some whiskey in the fire and it crackles taller and happier. I throw my gloves in it, open my jacket and get out.  
The wind runs over me with the power of freedom as I walk the night.

I am still your hero.  
Cause I didn’t come for you.

  
  



End file.
